


Double Or Nothing

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa Week 2021, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Minor Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Therapy, couples therapy, wanna bet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: After a rocky two years of dating, Clarke makes an appointment with a counselor for couples therapy to try to save her failing relationship with Finn... but he doesn't show up.  She is about to leave when Lexa walks in, late for her own therapy appointment.  In an attempt to salvage the situation for both of them, Clarke suggests that they attend her appointment together.  Lexa bets her that the therapist will know right away that they aren't actually in a relationship.With a hundred bucks on the line, who will come out the winner?For Clexa Week 2021 - Day 2 - Wanna Bet?Note: Rating, tags, etc. are subject to change as story progresses.You can see the associated moodboardhere.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 119
Kudos: 461
Collections: Clexaweek2021





	Double Or Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is for everyone on the Clexa Writers Discord server who convinced me this would be a good idea. You have only yourselves to blame. 😉

**_Hey, you've reached Finn. You know what to do._ **

_Strangle you in your sleep and hide the body?_ , Clarke thought, forcing herself to loosen her jaw before she did permanent damage to her teeth. 

**_Beeeeep._ **

Clarke opened her mouth, sucking in a breath to start screaming at him in a whisper.

**_Ha ha ha got ya!_ **

"Oh fuck you," Clarke snarled, drawing a sharp look from the woman sitting across the waiting room. 'Sorry,' Clarke mouthed. The woman pursed her lips like she'd been sucking lemons and turned her attention back to her Magnolia magazine, and Clarke decided she wasn't sorry after all. 

Honestly, she was sick of being sorry. It felt like all she ever did was apologize. For things she did and things she didn't do. Hell, she apologized for things that were done to her more often than she cared to admit, and she was over it. Done. 

But when the real beep sounded, delivering her to Finn's voicemail, her rage shriveled and retreated and she found herself unable to say all – or any – of the things she'd imagined saying when he finally showed his sorry – no, not sorry, never sorry – face. The words that were so clear in her mind got dammed in the back of her throat, and after an awkwardly long silence she just hung up. 

She checked her texts again. 

**Clarke (4:02 pm):** Just leaving work. See you soon.

 **Clarke (4:24 pm):** Here way too early. Surprise surprise. ☺ Are you on your way?

 **Clarke (4:33 pm):** You should probably get here soon, before I get a chance to talk to the therapist without you here to defend yourself. 😜

 **Clarke (4:40 pm):** Did you get stuck in traffic?

 **Clarke (4:41pm):** I guess if you're stuck you can't really answer that.

 **Clarke (4:41 pm):** I hope you're on your way.

 **Clarke (4:48 pm):** You promised, Finn.

Still no response, and Clarke hated herself for... everything. For the cutesy emojis, for the obvious insecurity, but especially for thinking his promises meant anything. 

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

She quickly typed out a message and hit send before she could second-guess herself. 

**Clarke (4:54 pm):** WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

A minute passed, and then another, and he wasn't coming. Clarke knew he wasn't coming. Maybe she'd known all along, but she'd let herself hope. She pushed herself up from the chair it felt like she'd started to become one with and reached for the door. But before her hand hit the knob it burst open and she tripped back half a step to avoid getting hit.

"Sorry!" she said.

"Shit!" The woman who'd been doing her best impression of a Miley Cyrus song froze, eyes wide. "No, _I'm_ sorry," she said. "I didn't—"

"No," Clarke said. "No, I'm fine. You didn't—" 

The woman nodded. "Okay. Good. At least _one_ thing went right today."

Clarke snorted. "You're telling me." 

The corner of the woman's mouth turned up, and Clarke found herself staring at her lips, at that hint of a smirk that made something in her gut do a flip. She forced her gaze upward to eyes that were a color Clarke had never seen before, a blue-green-gray that was clear as tropical water, and for the second time in the last few minutes she found herself unable to speak. 

"Do you have the time?" the woman asked. "I think—"

"Four fifty-five," Clarke said. "Give or take."

"Fuck," the woman said. "Damn it. I knew I was late, but—" She shook her head. "I guess I'll have the reschedule." Clarke knew she wasn't talking to her anymore, that she'd probably ceased to exist in this woman's world as she dealt with her own drama. She knew she should let it go, keep walking so she was out the door and away before they called her name and she had to admit that she was here for couples' therapy... alone. 

"Fucking Anya," the woman muttered. "Doesn't call—" Her voice dropped so Clarke couldn't hear it anymore, but she thought she might have just devolved into a string of curses with little or nothing of consequence connecting them. 

And if Clarke was being honest – and wildly inappropriate – she would be forced to admit it kind of turned her on. It wasn't often you found a woman who looked like she'd come straight from a board meeting who cursed like a sailor without a second's hesitation or an ounce of regret. 

"Did you get stood up too?" she asked. 

The woman looked up sharply, her lips pressed into an irritated frown. "What? No, I—" She stopped, her forehead creasing with confusion. "You got stood up?"

"Yup," Clarke said. "First session of couples' therapy. Which I probably should have seen coming, but..." She shrugged, as if to say, 'What can you do?' As if this was something that happened to her all the time. 

Which, damn it, it _was_. Not this specific scenario, but various other ones, both large and small. Hence why she'd made the appointment.

"What pisses me off most, though, is that I already paid for it. Prepaid for three sessions, because of course insurance doesn't cover it." Because even her insurance company knew the relationship was doomed, apparently. "Maybe I can get a refund for the other two, but I'm pretty sure this one is a loss, and—" Clarke stopped herself, realizing this woman didn't need – or likely want – to hear her entire life story, or even this most recent disaster of a chapter of it. Not when she had her own shit going on, which she clearly did or she wouldn't be here, but she'd missed her appointment and—

And maybe there was a way to salvage the situation. 

"Hey," Clarke said. "This is gonna sound crazy, but—"

"Isn't crazy what we're here for?" the woman asked, her scowl twisting into a smirk.

Clarke felt the corners of her lips tugging upward in response. "What if you join me?" she suggested. "You're late, right? You missed your session? So what if we go together? It won't be the same, but at least I won't have wasted my money and you won't have wasted the trip and—"

The woman laughed, a soft bark of sound. "Are you serious?" Her eyes fixed on Clarke's, searching to see if she was missing the joke. Clarke didn't budge. Yes, she was serious. "There's no way," the woman said, shaking her head. "We don't even know each other. They would figure it out within five minutes."

Clarke raised her eyebrows and lifted her chin. "Wanna bet?"

* * *

Lexa had done a lot of stupid things in her life. Just ask Anya, whose fault it was that she was standing in this waiting room, toe-to-toe with a woman whose aura of icy rage sent a chill down Lexa's spine and lit a spark in her core she'd begun to think she'd never feel again – instead of in her therapist's office, bitching about Anya and how she liked to pop up out of the woodwork every few months and turn Lexa's life upside down. 

This had to be one of the stupidest. She couldn't believe she was even considering this woman's ridiculous proposal. But she'd never been one to back down from a dare, and the jut of this woman's jaw was a clear challenge.

"How much?" Lexa asked. 

The woman considered. "A hundred bucks."

Lexa sniffed, impressed despite herself. "Fine," she said. "A hundred bucks says the therapist figures out we're not a couple within the first five minutes." It would be easy money; they didn't even know each other's names. 

"A hundred bucks says we make it through to the end with her none the wiser," the woman countered, sticking out her hand. "But you can't actively sabotage it. You have to try."

Lexa gave a quick nod, then took her hand and shook it, her grip lingering just a second too long. 

A woman poked her head around the corner of the hallway that led to the various offices that belonged to independent therapists who shared the waiting room. "Clarke Griffin?"

"That's me," the woman said, letting go of Lexa's hand with one final warning look as she turned to face the woman who was either going to make or break Lexa's wallet.

"I'm Dr. Franko," she said. "I'm sorry for the wait. There was a call I had to take that ran longer than I expected." She looked past Clarke. "Are we still waiting for..." Her voice trailed off, waiting for Clarke to fill in the blank. 

"No, she's right here," Clarke said, looking back at Lexa, who dutifully stepped up to take her place at Clarke's side. 

"Oh," Dr. Franko said, looking down at the notebook she had clutched in one hand. "I was under the impression you were coming with your boyfriend?"

"I said partner," Clarke said, so smoothly Lexa couldn't tell it if was truth or a lie. "The receptionist must have assumed. Heteronormativity." She rolled her eyes, and even if it was a lie, Lexa felt it in her soul. 

"I'm sorry for the confusion," Dr. Franko said, leading them to her office. "It's a pleasure to meet you..."

"Lexa," she supplied, filling in the blank the doctor had left. 

"Lexa," Dr. Franko echoed. She pushed open her office door, revealing a desk with a closed laptop and little else on top, an armchair, a loveseat, and wall-to-wall bookshelves that were full to overflowing with books, with the occasional tchotchke thrown in for flavor. 

Both she and Clarke tried to take the cushion on the loveseat that was nearest the door, stopping just before it turned into a shoving match, their eyes fixed on each other and both too stubborn to back down. 

"You see?" Clarke said. "This is what happens. This is what _always_ happens. Two years together and she still can't seem to remember that I'm left-handed. We go out to eat with friends and we're seated in a booth, and every single time she takes the seat that means our elbows are going to bump the entire time." 

"I don't think we're going to be eating anything," Lexa said mildly. 

Clarke glared, and Lexa couldn't tell if her annoyance was real or feigned. "No, but we might need to write something and it's the same situation. If you take that side," she jabbed her finger toward the side of the loveseat that would put both Clarke and Dr. Franko between Lexa and the door, "if we need to write, we'll both be able to lean on an arm of the couch without risking scoliosis from having to twist and hunch over." 

_Really?_ , Lexa thought, but she didn't say it. She just heaved a sigh that was not entirely fake and took the seat Clarke had indicated. 

"Thank you," Clarke said, flopping into the seat beside her, looking just a little bit smug. The cushions had clearly seen better days, and were soft enough that Lexa felt herself tilting toward Clarke. She wondered if Dr. Franko hadn't replaced it on purpose, just to force the couples she saw into closer proximity whether they liked it or not.

Dr. Franko settled into the armchair, her notebook perched on her knee and a pen held loosely in one hand. Her right hand, Lexa noted. She also noted the framed diplomas on the wall behind her, and wondered if they were required to display them for some reason, because her own therapist had a similar wall, or if it was just something they did, and what did it say about their own security levels that they felt the need to advertise their credentials for all to see? 

"So," she said, looking over the top of her glasses at them, "why don't we start by you each telling me why you're here today?"

Lexa looked at Clarke, tilting her head to indicate she should begin. This was her session, after all, and even though Lexa wanted the hundred bucks on the line, she also wanted Clarke to get out of this what she could. She _had_ paid for it, after all. Which made her wonder whether winning the bet would make up for what she'd sunk into the session. 

Was _that_ what this was all about? 

" _I'm_ here because after two years, I'm starting to wonder if this relationship is going anywhere, or if I'm just deluding myself. I'm here because I feel like I'm the only person doing any work to keep the relationship alive. I'm here because I feel like no matter what I do, or how much I do, it's never the right thing and it's never enough." 

Lexa felt herself physically recoiling from the anger that rolled off Clarke in waves. 

"And you?" Dr. Franko asked, looking at her. 

"I'm here because she asked me to be," Lexa said with a shrug. Which was the truth, as far as it went. 

"Can you elaborate?" Dr. Franko asked. 

_No, I can't, because I have known this woman for literally five minutes and I am seriously regretting agreeing to be a stand-in for whatever deadbeat asshole she's gotten herself tangled up with,_ Lexa thought. "I want to make her happy."

Clarke snorted. "That's new," she said. 

Dr. Franko looked at her. "I can hear your frustration, and I want to help you work through that. I do think before we really get into things, it's important that we establish some ground rules. For example, it's best to avoid using words or phrases that may be interpreted as a personal attack. It's also important to say what you mean, and mean what you say. Passive-aggression isn't a productive use of any of our time." 

Lexa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the scowl that tugged at Clarke's lips, even as she wondered whether Clarke would be saying these things if it was her boyfriend on the couch with her and not a stranger.

Clarke gave a short, sharp nod, then leaned back into the cushions and crossing her arms... which pushed up her chest in a way that was more than a little distracting, and Lexa had to look away to focus on what Dr. Franko was saying. 

"What are you hoping to accomplish through these sessions?" she asked. 

"I want to know if I'm wasting my time," Clarke said. At Dr. Franko's look, her frown deepened. She sucked in a breath, and Lexa had to turn even farther away so she couldn't see what that did to the strip of skin that peeked through where the top few buttons of Clarke's shirt were unbuttoned. "Fine," she said. "I'd like to... actually talk. For once. Without it turning into a fight. And figure out if we're on the same page for the future." 

"Lexa?" Dr. Franko asked. "What about you?" 

_I want to win a hundred dollars,_ Lexa said, but a glance at the clock told her that ship had already unmoored and was about to set sail. Damn it. She should have made it fifteen minutes. Given herself a fighting chance. Especially since she'd promised Clarke she wouldn't try to actively sabotage the situation. But that didn't mean she couldn't push things, just a little... 

"Like I said, I just want to make Claire—"

Clarke's head whipped toward her, her eyes narrowed. "It's Clarke," she snapped. "See? She does this just to annoy me. Mockery isn't the product of a strong mind, _Alexa_." 

Lexa pressed her lips together and she could feel a muscle in her jaw twitching. Maybe Clarke really had misheard her name, but Dr. Franko had just said it, and she suspected this was Clarke's revenge for forcing her to cover for Lexa's not-so-accidental error. "And _she_ thinks it's funny to pretend I'm the digital home assistant," she countered. 

"And _she_ insists on using phrases like 'digital home assistant'!" Clarke shot back.

"What am I supposed to call it, _Clarke_?" Lexa asked, in a tone that was so calm and measured she knew it would get under Clarke's skin. 

She wasn't wrong. Clarke turned more fully toward her, fire in her eyes as she opened her mouth, but Dr. Franko cut her off before she could let loose with whatever snappy comeback she had at the ready.

"Let's all take a deep breath," she said, and sucked in a lungful of air through her nose, letting it out slowly through her mouth, demonstrating until they both did the same. "All right," she said. "So it sounds like communication is something that you both need to work on. Clarke, you already expressed that it's something you're willing to invest in. What about you, Lexa? Are you open to learning some techniques to establish a more open and honest dialogue with Clarke?"

"Sure," Lexa said. _We'll never see or speak to each other again, but why not?_ They might be useful for other aspects of her life, anyway.

"Great," Dr. Franko said. "Have you ever heard of 'I statements'? They're a great way to express your feelings and the impact that your partner's actions have on you, without making it a blame game. For example, rather than saying, 'Lexa always calls me the wrong name just to annoy me,' Clarke, you could say, 'It frustrates me when you call me by another name,' followed by an explanation or elaboration of the impact that it has on you, or why you feel that way. Do you want to give it a try?"

Lexa saw Clarke's jaw twitch. "It _pisses me off_ when—"

Dr. Franko held up her hand. "Try to avoid things like 'pissed off' or 'annoyed'," she said. "Try to really get to the core of what you're feeling. It's important to be honest with yourself as well as your partner. Why don't you try again, and this time, try looking at Lexa while you speak to her. Really make eye contact."

Lexa saw a flicker of panic in Clarke's eyes as she looked up and met Lexa's, a look of, 'Oh shit, what have I done? What have I gotten myself into?' Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch her, reassure her that it was okay, they would get through this... even though the whole point was supposed to be that they _didn't_ get through this. But she didn't think that would be in character for whatever role she was supposed to be playing, so she stuffed her hands between her knees and focused on Clarke's eyes instead. 

Clarke heaved a sigh, tucking one knee up so she could face Lexa fully. "When you call me by someone else's name, I feel... frustrated. It feels like you're trying to provoke me or—" She frowned. "Belittle me, I guess. Like I'm not even worth remembering." 

_Shit._ She'd only meant it as a joke, but now Lexa felt like an asshole. 

She glanced at Dr. Franko, who was watching them intently, then looked back at Clarke. "I'm sorry," she said. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel belittled, but now that you say it, I understand how it could make you feel that way. It was inconsiderate and hurtful, and I won't do it again." 

Dr. Franko nodded. "That was very good," she said. "One of the important things that we all need to be aware of when communicating with anyone is that intention and impact can be very different. You may do or say something that you think is funny, or at least innocuous, which has an impact on your partner that is not what you expect. If they express to you that the impact of your words or actions are at odds with your intent, it's important to take a step back, as you did, Lexa, and acknowledge that rather than doubling down to defend your intentions." 

"I accept your apology," Clarke said, one corner of her mouth turning up just a little, the barest hint of a smile that Lexa hoped meant she wasn't actually angry at her for upping the ante in their charade. 

"What about you, Lexa?" Dr. Franko asked. "Do you want to try an I statement?"

"I can't think of anything right now," Lexa said. 

"All right," Dr. Franko said. "Maybe as we get further into the session something will come up." 

Lexa nodded, and they moved on. Lexa let Clarke do most of the talking, and it was clear from where she sat that the asshole Clarke was dating didn't deserve her. If even half of what Clarke said was true, she had tied herself to a grade A loser, and no amount of therapy was going to change or fix that. Especially if he didn't show up. But of course she couldn't say that. Not in front of Dr. Franko. Lexa only chimed in when prompted, wanting Clarke to get as much out of this as possible... on top of the hundred dollars Lexa now owed her. 

"All right," Dr. Franko said as they were nearing the end of the session. "I know this can be a sensitive subject, and awkward to talk about with a stranger, but it's an important aspect in most relationships, so I do think it's important to bring it up." 

Lexa could see where this was going, see the writing on the wall, and she felt her cheeks and the tips of her ears heating up even before Dr. Franko said it: "Sexual intimacy." 

"Non-existent," Lexa blurted without thinking, at the same time Clarke said, "It's about the only aspect of the relationship that's still working." 

They looked at each other, Clarke shooting daggers and Lexa wishing she'd just kept her mouth shut. "What do you mean, _non-existent_?" Clarke asked. "That's not what you said last night." 

Lexa almost choked, and felt more than just her face heating up even as her stomach tied itself in knots, because the idea of the douchebag who couldn't even be bothered to show up touching Clarke, kissing her—

She shoved the thoughts down before they could really start to spiral. "Sex isn't the same as intimacy," she said, forcing herself to meet Clarke's eyes. "Sometimes I think you could just grab some random person off the street and swap them in for me and it would all be the same to you."

* * *

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. Shots fired. 

"Lexa has a point," Dr. Franko conceded. "Sex and intimacy often go hand-in-hand but they aren't synonymous. The way I phrased it conflated the two, but it sounds like in your relationship there may be a disconnect between sex and intimacy, and also between how each of you feels about it. Lexa, do you think you could say more about how you're feeling right now?"

Lexa's face was so red she looked like she might spontaneously combust, and Clarke wondered if she should intercede on Lexa's behalf. Clarke had already won the bet; they'd made it way past five minutes without Dr. Franko any the wiser. She didn't need to see Lexa tortured over the intimate details of their fictional relationship any more than she already had been.

But it turned out Lexa was made of sterner stuff than Clarke had thought. "When we're together – in bed together – _I_ feel like Clarke –" She turned to look at Clarke, and _damn_ those eyes... "Like _you_ are just using me. I'm a means to an end, and when you've gotten what you want, you're done. It makes me feel like an object rather than a person, and it hurts. I feel like you don't even know me, and maybe you don't care." 

_Ouch._ Somehow this didn't feel like a game anymore. It wasn't a harmless prank, an amusing story to tell her friends about over drinks. 

"Clarke?" Dr. Franko prompted. 

"I..." She swallowed. "I feel the same way. Most of the time. Like... it feels good in the moment, but then we roll over back into our neutral corners and I feel more alone than ever. But... that's why I'm—why we're here? I guess? Because if we both feel that way then... maybe we can figure out a way to fix it? To... to get to know each other?" 

Clarke had to resist the urge to squirm, because she was talking about Finn, but at the same time she wasn't talking about Finn at all. Because her problem with Finn wasn't that she didn't know him. The problem with Finn was that she knew him altogether too well, and she'd come here thinking maybe she could change him, or he could change, that he would want to change, but he hadn't even bothered to show up. Which told her everything she needed to know, really. And Lexa... she _was_ just using Lexa, and that wasn't okay even if Lexa had agreed to be used. 

And she didn't know Lexa. She didn't know her history, or why she'd had an appointment or why she missed it, and maybe this was opening cans of worms for her that would have been better to keep shut, and—

"We only have a few minutes left," Dr. Franko said after a quick glance at her watch. "I think this may be a good place to end things. I want to give you two a little homework assignment before your next session. Sometime this week, I want you to find the opportunity to do something intimate together. I'm not going to put any guidelines on what that needs to be, except that it not be sexual, and that it has to be at least half an hour. Is that something you think you can do?"

Clarke's eyes flicked to Lexa. She'd forgotten that Dr. Franko would expect them to come back. Should she tell her now that they wouldn't be returning? She hadn't had the chance to talk to anyone about whether the other two sessions she'd paid for were refundable, and now didn't feel like the right time to ask. She didn't think it would hurt Dr. Franko's feelings – she was sure she'd had plenty of clients come to one or two sessions and then never come back, either because it wasn't a good fit or they couldn't handle the work or any one of a million other possible reasons. She was sure Dr. Franko had learned not to take it personally. But the thing was, it _wasn't_ a bad fit. Clarke could see Dr. Franko really being able to help... except you couldn't help people who didn't want to help themselves. Or even show up. 

She looked to Lexa for help, for guidance, but Lexa just looked back at her, because it was her call. Clarke had made her bed, dug her own grave, whatever cliché you wanted to use, and whatever happened next was up to her. "Okay," she said. "I – we – can do that." 

Lexa dipped her chin in agreement, and Clarke wondered what she thought she was agreeing to. Would she be willing to come back next week? It was ridiculous to even consider it, but if Clarke tried some of the techniques they'd learned, if she convinced Finn to spend half an hour with her doing something together with all their clothes on (even if she had to promise that they would come off later) and reported back to Lexa afterward so she could get Dr. Franko's feedback...

No. That wasn't going to happen. She would just call and cancel before the next session, come up with some excuse and they could both carry on with their lives exactly as they had been and Clarke would figure things out on her own, like she always did.

What other option did she have?

"Great," Dr. Franko said. "It was great meeting you both today, and I look forward to seeing you again next week." She got up and shook both of their hands, then saw them to the door. The receptionist waved to them on their way out, and Clarke waved back. 

As soon as they were outside, Clarke expected Lexa to make a beeline for her own car, wanting to be free of Clarke and what she'd just been put through as quickly as possible. She was surprised when Lexa kept pace with her, remaining at her side all the way to Clarke's car. She had her hands shoved in her pockets and her shoulders hunched, even though the weather was relatively mild for this time of year. 

It took a minute for Clarke to realize she was probably just hanging around to settle the bet. To get her Venmo details (because who carried around a hundred dollars in cash?) or something. She considered telling her to forget about it, it had been a stupid bet and Lexa didn't need to lose a hundred bucks on top of an hour of her life and a little bit of her dignity. 

But when Lexa finally spoke, it had nothing to do with money. "You're going to dump him, right?" she asked. 

Clarke looked at her, getting trapped in her eyes, lost in the pale green of them like she had every time they'd made eye contact during the session, and every time it was a little harder to extricate herself. "What?"

"Your boyfriend. The one who didn't show up. You're going to dump him. Right?" Lexa asked again.

Clarke sighed. She knew she should. She knew it was the inevitable conclusion that ought to be drawn after his failure to appear. He loved her – at least he said he did. Every time he fucked up, every time she called him out on some little (or not so little) bit of bullshit, he told her he loved her and he would do better. And he did, for an hour or a day or maybe two, before slipping right back into the same old patterns. "Maybe," she said. "I don't know."

Lexa blew out a breath and it plumed in front of her lips. She looked like she wanted to say something, but then she just shook her head as if to say, 'Your funeral.' 

Clarke wanted to say something too, to defend him, or herself, but there was no defense. She unlocked her car door and opened it, sliding into the driver's seat. She reached to close it, but found it blocked, and when she looked up Lexa was standing there, one hand braced on the door.

"Double or nothing," she said. "Next week. Double or nothing."

Clarke felt something spark inside her, and her lips curved into a smile almost before she realized what was happening. She turned and offered Lexa her hand. "Deal."

* * *

Lexa reached for Clarke's hand, but not to shake it. Instead, she pulled a pen from her pocket and scrawled her number across Clarke's palm. "For our study date," she said. "Wouldn't want to show up without having done our homework." She let Clarke's hand go and quickly strode to her own car. She angled her mirror so she could see into Clarke's car, and saw her cradling her right hand – the one Lexa's number was on – in her left, before pressing them both to her chest.

Lexa slammed her car into reverse before she could see anything more, because she'd already seen (and said, and done) too much. Her heart was pounding in her chest so hard she was a little lightheaded and probably shouldn't be driving, but she waited until she found a side street to turn onto before pulling over, just in case Clarke happened to be going the same way. 

"Double or nothing," she muttered. "Fuck." 

But when Clarke had gotten into her car, ready to drive away and disappear from Lexa's life, maybe – probably – forever, she'd known she couldn't let that happen. Because after forty-five minutes of faking a relationship – even one that was supposed to be on the rocks – with her, Lexa felt more alive than she had in years. And she could never tell Anya, because Lexa knew she would try to take credit... and she wouldn't be entirely wrong.

"Fucking Anya."


End file.
